


Shamefully Horny

by sherlocked221



Series: A Tale of an OFC and her Hormone Monster [3]
Category: Big Mouth (Cartoon)
Genre: Degradation, F/M, Humiliation, Light BDSM, Masturbation, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 04:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17015853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlocked221/pseuds/sherlocked221
Summary: You know that everyone is well acquainted with him, because everyone is ashamed about something. You always thought you were weird, different, but at least you now know you’re not.Because despite what you, and he, first thought, you do have shame. There is one thing you always feel guilty about. Luckily, he hasn’t quite caught on yet.(Aka the one in which a girl realising that shame isn't always something to be avoided, but sometimes something to indulge in)





	Shamefully Horny

**Author's Note:**

> This story has nothing to do with my kink for David Thewis, I swear.

You know that everyone is well acquainted with him, because everyone is ashamed about something. You always thought you were weird, different, but at least you now know you’re not.

Because despite what you, and he, first thought, you do have shame. There is one thing you always feel guilty about. Luckily, he hasn’t quite caught on yet. You think you know how to bypass him, at least for a little while; you convince yourself that whatever you feel shame about actually is not a bad thing.

“Oh, but it is.” You recongise his voice. It’s like you’ve known it from when you were much younger. Much, much younger, before you could’ve fathomed what shame was. It always reminds you of Harry Potter, but you’re not sure why. Surely no one had such a thick accent like his. Or not that you remember.

When you see him, the floating presence adorned in an inky black cape and staring at you with hypnotic, mismatched eyes, you immediately lose your cool. You’ve tried before to ignore him, to stand up to him, but you found that you didn’t like that. You didn’t like not feeling how you did when he spoke to you…

Humiliated you…

Degraded you…

The fact that he’s turned up now means he knows. You can’t hide from him much longer. He probably caught on.

“And I have. You know that I have.” He says. You sometimes forget that, even if he can’t specifically read your thoughts, he does know what you’re feeling, and sometimes that is interchangeable. Maurice explained it to you. You wish he were here. He wouldn’t judge you, he’d actively encourage you. He’d lay you down on the pillows of your bed and whisper dirty nothings about…

“Starting already, are we? You realise he’s not here to help you anymore. And you know what? I think you sent him away. I don’t think you want your dear hormone monster to see you get off to one of his…”

“Please!” You snap, playing with the natural ringlets your hair falls into around your boobs. You love the way that, when you’re naked, they’re at the perfect length to hide your nipples, like you’re some kind of 16th century painting of a goddess hung in the King’s chambers. They also act as comfort toys. You wind them around your fingers as you stare down at the duvet covering you. You may have a shirt on, but under the duvet, you’re naked. You have no underwear on, and that always makes you want to… _do things_. That’s why you think the shame Wizard is here, because you were going to touch yourself, and it was who you were about to think of that had him all excited, filling the room with his cool, green glow, painting the walls with shame and doubt. He hovers over you, intimidatingly as he so loves to do.

“Please what? Please don’t tell you what a little sick pervert you are, little girl? That’s my job, I’ll have you know. And you can’t tell me not to do my job. It’s practically impossible.”

“Then will you do me a favour and not read my mind.” You ask, as bitingly as you can, though you know, and he does, you can only go so far.

“Part of the job, love.” He sighs, floating down closer. You can practically feel the warm burn of shame emitting from him. “Now, where do we go from here?”

“What do you mean?” You’re not looking at him. You’re watching your fingers, your hands playing with your hair. You’re trying to ignore the urge to cross your casually folded legs tighter. All you can do is listen to him, feel his breath warm your cheeks, flush them red.

You always imagine that the Wizard, in his icy blues and greens, should be a cold presence, but you’ve learnt; shame is hot. Shame is pink and red, and burns.

“Well, either you can get all fired up thinking about one of your other, creepy, abnormal little obsessions- like that one of your teachers. Oh yes, you like him…”

“It’s not creepy.” You insist. Plenty of people have crushes on teachers, and it’s not like you’ve ever attempted to actually act on your urges. So, you like him? Big deal. You doubt he likes you back. “There’s nothing wrong with fantasising about him.”

“No no, you know that now, don’t you? But I bet, if you start thinking about him, and Maurice turns up, you’ll have to explain to him why I’m here, because I’m not going anywhere. Can you imagine that? Having to admit to him that you-?”

“What’s my other option?”

He laughs, a low, breathy chuckle. He’s now almost lying next to you over the duvet. Beneath it is starting to heat up. You know he’ll feel if you tense your legs now, squeeze them together for that inch of friction and moment of short-lived, weak pleasure, but you do it anyway. He laughs again.

“Your other option is to give in. Let me do to you what you crave, then we’ll speak no more of it.”

It sounds inviting, but you’re not going to give in that easily.

“Do you think I’m stupid? Like you would ever let me out that easily.”

His tone changes slightly. It’s less evil, almost. It’s almost serious, genuine, honest. “I’d only turn up when you wanted this. I’d be like your hormone monster, but just _filthier._ ”

That doesn’t sound bad, you have to admit. You feel a bit guilty for even considering it without consulting Maurice. You’re going behind his back, and you love him. You never had a problem with your hormone monster. He rarely proved such a problem. So to replace him?

But he’d understand. He wants the best for you, to get off in whichever way you do. Maybe you’ll tell him. Not right away, but you think that you will. If this really is as hot as it seems.

Ok, you’ve basically made your decision. You’ve opened your legs and slipped a hand between them. Beside you, the Shame Wizard burns. He cackles.

“I knew you would do it! You filthy little thing. Look at you, thinking you’re no more worthy than what I tell you. Well, I’ll tell you this, you’re a dirty slut, a sick pervert. You shouldn’t be getting off to this. This is so _naughty._ ”

After a moment of holding your breath, you can no longer. You let out a whimpering sigh before catching the inside of your lip with your incisors. You bite a little harder than expected. It’s cold, and with half your body in the sweaty cocoon beneath the duvet while the rest is numbed in the night chill, you’re shivering, your teeth chatter. The result is you nipping through the soft flesh. At first there’s pain, then the taste of blood, but you’re surprised. It’s not quite as repugnant a feeling as you had expected.

“You know what that means?” The Wizard pipes up again, “You probably get off to pain? You’re no better than the idiots who get off to fifty shades. I bet you like the idea of an abusive relationship like that, imagining being thrown up against the wall and pinned there as a man, who has no care for your well-being fucks away the last of your energy.”

“Shut up!” You hiss. It’s probably defensive. You know that. Because, if you really did want him to shut up, you wouldn’t be getting off to the very thing he was describing.

“Oh look at you, unable to stop yourself. No self-control. You’re a dirty masturbator. A dirty, uncontrollable pleasure-seeker. Listen to the sort of things you’re aroused by. Just think about it. Pain, screaming, _humiliation._ ”

You open your legs wider, almost instinctively. Your back is arching. You can’t seem to get enough of this feeling. Of course, you never can. It’s addictive. Grinding against your fingers, the only digits in the word you know of that know exactly what to do, save for those ones in your dreams, owned by the strangest of imagined sexual partners.

And there’s this new feeling, an intense, exciting one. This humiliation, this verbal degradation electrifies it all. You can hardly stop yourself from moaning, whimpering into your free hand, which is clasped over your mouth. You really hope no one can hear you.

“Oh, but you might like that.”

“Will you stop reading my mind!” You hiss again.

“I’m not. I just know what you’re thinking. And I can see that little smirk behind your hand. You were wondering what it would be like to be caught. Not by your family, per say.” You shudder at the very idea. He brings it back, however, knowing well what you like. He reminds you of your teacher, “Imagine if he walked in on you. What would he think? You’d probably like that, wouldn’t you? It would make you come faster.”

“Oh god,” You turn your face towards the pillow, muffling your moan, “Please.”

“Please what?” The Wizard cackles. You feel one of his long fingered claws brush against your face. In response, you turn your head back. You meet his smirking gaze. It’s not inches from yours. You can feel his breath against your cheek and nose, colouring them both pink. It urges you on. Your fingers pry inside you, thrusting quickly. You’re so close, closer still now faced with shame and having him whisper dirty things in your ear. You let him make you feel worthless. You let him make you feel embarrassed and shy. You let him call you a slut, a compulsive masturbator, an uncontrollable whore. It all does very little to put you off. It does much to excite you, draw you to climax, you’re almost there, you’re just…

“I’m late? I’ve never been late before.”

“Piss off Maurice, she’s mine now.”

“Yours?”

You whip you head up to see your hormone monster laying on the other side of you. Suddenly, your bed is feeling simultaneously crowded and hot. You feel away from the rest of the world, in your own which is drenched in a dirty pleasure and aloof where you can indulge in, and you’re not going to stop, even when Maurice asks, “What is he talking about?”

You’re desperate. This isn’t a conversation for now. You’re almost there, your whole body burning, some parts from pleasure, some from shame. It’s feeling so good, you cast an apologetic look his way, practically a begging one.

“Can’t I just come and we can talk about this later?”

“Don’t ask him if you can come.” The Shame Wizard insists, “Ask me.”

That makes you quiver; you have to ask for permission. Pleading with Maurice, you wait until he answers before you give in to the Wizard. Though looking slightly confused, Maurice cannot deny you pleasure. He cosies up next to you as you turn back to the Wizard, and ask him if you may come.

“I don’t know if you deserve to.” He says, feigning thoughtfulness, “You dirty, filthy, horny little girl.”

“Don’t you talk to her like-” Maurice’s disgust is cut off by your moan. You whimper, arching your back, wishing you could come, but ensuring you can’t with slowed, feather touches.

“Oh look at her. She’s desperate. No self-control, no self-worth. She likes this, you know. She likes to be told she’s bad, and naughty and…”

“Please!”

“Alright, alright,” He concedes, “Come, but don’t forget who let you. It was me.”

Your back arches again, legs quiver, stomach fizzes as he repeats, “It was me.”  

**Author's Note:**

> I might write more of this. If you're interested in more, let me know. And if you're interested in more Big Mouth fanfic, I would be happy to oblige.


End file.
